Strong Arms
by Sand Dun
Summary: He's in strong arms... Zhang Liao/ Yue Jin


He sighs contently, a nearly mute slow huff of breath. It tickles across the chest his head rests up on. The gentle curls of dark hair bent low over the masses of compact muscles quiver slightly. He blinks slow, favoring the lull of sleep that tunes him into a soothed state. The hand with calluses and rough fingertips is suddenly gentle. It tenderly strokes up and down Yue Jin's naked back, coaxing a soft purr from the warrior before he realizes it. He hears and feels a chuckle rumble gently in the strong chest. "Are you enjoying this?" Zhang Liao whispers.  
>"Yes," Yue Jin replies. He quietly wishes it would last forever and tenderly kisses the older warrior's chest, twitching his nose slightly when the hair tickles it. "Are you?"<br>"I must confess, it has been some time since I have been this relaxed."  
>"I am glad to know."<p>

Silence lapses upon them once more, a mantle of soft content laced with tender emotion. Yue Jin can feel sleep falling upon him heavily: the warmth of Zhang Liao's body, the gentle hand coaxing a wonderful tingle along his spine, and the steady pattern of a strong heart. Yet he latches onto consciousness. His focuses, not letting his mind slip.

He unintentionally lets his thoughts slip to an unpleasant place.

Tomorrow… what will tomorrow's fate be? It is that unknown that quickly draws a snake of uncertainty within him. It coils and uncoils with discontent. There is no knowing what daybreak will usher forward. Who will die? Who will live? Each day is a gamble in war… battle: set the game, play, and re-set for the next day. Talent tips the balance, but the outcome is more chance above all else. On the battlefield… he shutters involuntarily.

Screams engulf the air, making the serene music of the peace they fight for seem faraway… nonexistent. The scent of blood and soiled cloth penetrates the air with a thick vengeance, enough to make a man gag if he weren't fiercely defending for his life while trying to find victory. Most men-the fresh, untested soldiers-loose sight of their goal and fight blindly to merely survive. The sights... severed limbs and ghastly wounds pumping blood. The trampled, pulped bodies and men falling, screaming, and crying. Battle demands much sacrifice. Even in survival, all soldiers pay with something-loss, a piece of themselves. Victory is very free.

He goes into that chaos willingly. He throws himself into the trauma and soul-tearing murder. It is all murder… War is no different. Men only believe it is different because they must. If they fought clinging to the knowledge that every wooden piece the strategist moves is the weight of good men's lives, they would crushed.

He cuddles closer to Zhang Liao, coaxing out every last space between their bodies. He does not wish to fill his mind with such things at such a comfortable and perfect moment as this. "I am not going to let you go," Zhang Liao promises. The words do good to quiet the short man's storm, but it still lingers like an aftershock. He feels warmth bubble in his chest as the warrior's strong arms encircle his body. They create a wall, a sound foundation struck from stone. They keep him safe and warm, but they do not keep the world from him. But he knows what Zhang Liao offers him when he corrals him within his warrior's arms is not just an allusion to safeguard his mind. It is a promise-an unspoken whisper-to protect his body as well.

There is a sturdy and unyielding force of comfort in this, a stronghold of solace that Yue Jin had felt the moment Zhang Liao had first offered this. 'Thank you,' he mouths, willing his words to touch the warrior's heart. The response is a soft kiss buried in light brown hair.

He knows he could lie here forever, buried with Zhang Liao's strong arms. But tomorrow will come as surely as the stars will fade and the sun will rise. The fortress of warmth and comfort will pull away. He will be left cold and alone once more. Maybe later, if they are given another moment, he can find himself within strong arms. He can feel the soft breath tickling his hair, an unshaven chest beneath his cheek, warm words in his ears, and a heart full of content.

Maybe he will be alone, shackled with tears of remorse and inner agony… He hopes he will be within strong arms.


End file.
